Of Late-Night Talks
by EloquentDossier
Summary: If Aaron Hotchner were ever asked which member of his team was easiest to room with, he would promptly answer, "None of them." And he would be lying. / In which Reid has a nightmare, and Hotch distracts him with chess. / Pre-Slash / Late-Nights 'Verse - Part 1


_This was written for a prompt on tumblr by sakura-kuroi-kuchiki:_ _ **they're on a case, Reid has a nightmare (coincidentally rooming with Hotch) and Hotch wakes him up gently and maybe gets him to talk about it?**_

 _It also happens to be the first fanfic I wrote for CM, so... yeah. I don't own anything, of course._

 _Pairing: Hotch/Reid - Pre-Slash. It more-so features pining!Hotch, and nothing actually happens._

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If Aaron Hotchner were ever asked which member of his team was easiest to room with, he would promptly answer, "None of them." And he would be lying.

It wasn't something he would be ashamed to admit, but he knew he could never answer the question honestly—it would only prompt a long line of even more ridiculous queries, none of which he could easily answer without potentially offending every other member on his team.

In his experience none of his team had ever jumped at the opportunity to room with Spencer Reid during cases. Due to their budget, it was rare for anyone to get a single room to himself or herself, so they'd all gotten used to each other's quirks and resigned themselves to deal with whomever they were assigned. Recently, however, Hotch had been paired with Reid, mostly because he was the only one who didn't complain about it. He took the assignment in stride, showing as much resignation for Reid as he would for Derek Morgan or David Rossi—or as he used to do for Jason Gideon. But in all actuality, Reid was the only member he actually _liked_ bunking with.

Reid was actually a pleasant roommate. He typically deferred to Hotch when it came to bathroom times, and he was a good deal more flexible with his morning and evening routines than most of the others. Sometimes he never even came back to the room unless he was coerced into it; but when he _did_ sleep in the room, he knew when to keep quiet or when to fill the silence with idle chatter. (Granted, Hotch was probably the only one who encouraged Reid's lengthy tangents—he sort of felt like he owed it to Reid to allow him to finish those tangents later since he tended to cut the young profiler off mid-stream during cases, but it was also more than just that. Sometimes it was the only way to get Reid to talk at all, and it was one of the few things that made Reid's entire face light up after a particularly rough case. Everyone needed some sort of outlet, and Hotch preferred the random spouts of information over almost all the other ones his team had.)

Aside from all that, though, Hotch generally found Reid's presence soothing. Of all his team, Reid was the only one he didn't butt heads with frequently, and Reid was the only one who didn't have any irritating sleeping habits. The worst Reid ever did was have nightmares, but that was typical of every team member (even Hotch himself sometimes) so there was no reason to fault the younger man for that.

Needless to say, when Hotch woke to the normal whimpers and protests that Reid usually made in the midst of nightmares, the situation was more a concern than an irritant. He'd expected it, to be honest—Reid did not deal well with cases in which he, or anyone else really, had to shoot the unsub. Hotch understood exactly how that felt, and no matter how often that situation came up in their line of work, he didn't think he would ever get over it, either. But there was something about it that obviously bothered Reid far more than normal, and it was one of the few triggers Reid seemed to have. (Hotch would certainly never forget the time Reid put himself between Owen Savage and all of their guns. Though that instance was worse since Reid identified with the unsub, it was still the concept of seeing a teenager gunned down that bothered Reid the most.) Whatever the case, it was actually rather easy to determine if he would show up to work the next day with darker bags under his eyes than normal—or to determine if he would have nightmares that evening if they wrapped up a case too late to head back that day.

So it was also entirely unsurprising Hotch was out of his bed and across the small space to the next bed before he even registered that he'd pushed himself up. He placed a hand on Reid's head, softly but firmly ordering, "Reid, wake up." He gently brushed his hand down Reid's hair, pressing his palm against the younger man's jaw. "Reid," he tried more loudly, and he was rewarded with the fluttering of dark lashes and a sharp gasp, followed by a slight flail of limbs. Hotch brushed his thumb along Reid's cheekbone, murmuring, "You're safe." Reid's attempts to fend off a non-existent attacker slowed to a stop, and his hazel eyes cleared as they landed on Hotch. It took a moment for Reid's erratic panting to slow into normal breaths, and Hotch pulled his hand away.

Reid pushed himself up into a sitting position, pushing both his hands through his sleep-mussed locks. After clearing his throat, he managed a weak smile. "Thanks for, uh, waking me."

Hotch studied him for a long moment before he turned and walked across the room to the desk. He gently tapped the chessboard situated on the desk, and then he looked back at Reid, who was watching him curiously. "Interested in playing a game?" Hotch queried, raising his brows momentarily. It wasn't likely that either of them would get back to sleep anytime soon, and Hotch wasn't in the mood to simply lie on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.

Reid's lips twitched into a smile, and then he gave a nod.

Within a few minutes they were both situated at the desk, the small table lamp turned on even though the extra lighting wasn't necessary. (The lamp on the nightstand between the two beds would have been enough, but both Hotch and Reid relaxed better with more light.) Hotch had taken the desk chair after pulling the comfy armchair out of the corner and angling it slightly toward the desk—which wasn't conventional seating for chess, but it would work just fine. Reid was curled up in the armchair, resting his chin on his knees and tapping a finger against his lips. The image caused something warm to settle in Hotch's chest, a warmth that he somehow managed to embrace and ignore at the same time.

Before they could even start playing, Hotch made an impulsive decision and turned the chessboard around so that Reid was able to use the white pieces. The expression on the other man's face was quizzical, and he didn't even have to voice his question. "For as long as I can remember, you've always used the white pieces," Hotch explained quietly.

Reid's half-chuckle was definitely worth the concession. "This means I have a very distinct advantage," he warned, glancing at Hotch from beneath his eyelashes.

Hotch shrugged, his lips curving into a smile. "We'll see," he replied, just to see Reid's eyes flash at the challenge.

For the first few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence. And then Reid spoke suddenly. "Does watching an unsub commit suicide or... or receive a fatal gunshot wound ever get any easier?"

Hotch looked up from the chessboard to see Reid peering at him with a mixed expression. He wasn't sure where Reid was headed with his query, but it was a little perplexing; he knew Reid had asked others that very question before. "No, it doesn't, but you already know that," Hotch answered, returning his gaze to the chessboard and making his next move. He patiently waited for Reid to continue since trying to force the younger profiler to talk would backfire very quickly.

Three moves later Reid cleared his throat, regaining Hotch's attention. "It doesn't seem like it leaves a lasting impression on you. Any of you. No one else gets cookies from Garcia or... or gets that sad smile from JJ. Even Morgan treats me differently the first day back from a case like this." He paused, pressing his lips together and averting his gaze in a moment of hesitation before asking, "Why is it only me?"

"Reid, it isn't just you. For cases like this, perhaps it is, but we all have our own. Whenever it involves a certain age group for teenage girls, it's Morgan. JJ's cases are suicides and anything that involves children the age of her son. I have difficulties with cases where my son or members of my team could have been victims." Hotch allowed Reid to mull over that information as he moved one of his remaining Pawns, taking Reid's Rook. "The case involving Tobias Hankel still haunts me sometimes," he admitted almost inaudibly. The only way he knew Reid had heard was because of the sharp gasp the younger man emitted.

Reid seemed to flounder for words as he sat up straight, but he gave Hotch an intense look and finally settled on, "Hotch, you—you don't blame yourself for that."

Hotch could tell Reid wasn't asking it so much as stating it, like he needed to believe Hotch didn't blame himself, or to assert that Hotch shouldn't blame himself. "I don't," Hotch agreed, nearly smiling when Reid practically slouched in relief. "But it's something that comes with the job. Certain cases will always affect you more than others, and you need to realize that it's all right and that you're not the only one. It happens to everyone."

Reid smiled in response, ducking his head slightly as though he were embarrassed by his earlier reaction. His smile stayed as he made his next move, but it changed just the slightest bit—and Hotch definitely knew that smile. He'd seen it on Reid plenty of times during his chess games with Gideon; it was the smile he got when he thought he would be winning in a few moves.

"You look like the cat that ate the canary," Hotch commented, his lips twitching into a smile as a flush rose to Reid's cheeks as the other profiler tried to hide his near-smirk.

Reid cleared his throat but didn't say anything else, and when it was his turn again, he hummed as if in approval of Hotch's latest move. Rubbing his chin against his knee, he carefully considered the placement of the chess pieces. His hands and fingers were shifting rhythmically, almost like he was rotating or twirling something, and Hotch was reminded of the several times Reid had fiddled with a chess piece (possibly a Pawn, if memory served correctly) while planning out his possible choices.

And while he waited, Hotch did what he always did: observe Reid. He watched as Reid mouthed words (or maybe it was numbers) to himself, a genuine smile curving his lips. He took in Reid's relaxed posture, the way his body had sunk into the armchair. His gaze traced the curve of Reid's shoulders down to his small wrists and his clean and almost dainty fingers. And his own fingers twitched as one of Reid's curls fell forward into his face, as Hotch fought back the urge to push the curl back where it belonged.

"Check." Reid's smug tone was almost like a glass of ice water to Hotch's face; he was pulled from his borderline inappropriate thoughts before they could actively develop.

Hotch nearly gave himself away by grinning the moment he saw the move Reid had made, but he managed to keep his "work face" on as he moved his Bishop into place. "Checkmate," he retorted.

Reid's expression was one of pure confusion as he observed all the pieces, and then he did something Hotch hadn't been expecting— _he laughed_. It was such a pleasant surprise that Hotch couldn't help but grin at the sound of it. "You played me, didn't you?" Reid queried, his tone amused.

"I did nothing of the sort," Hotch answered, but he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. "You wrongly assumed I couldn't play well."

Reid nodded, shrugging a shoulder. "You're right; I did. And I am... pleasantly surprised." He chuckled, his gaze shifting up to meet Hotch's. "Could we—" Reid stopped short, suddenly nervous. "Ah, nevermind."

It wasn't a difficult jump for Hotch to make, though there were two possible questions he thought could come from that. "We can play whenever you'd like, whether it be another game tonight or a month from now."

And it was definitely a jump worth taking. Reid's eyes lit up even though his expression and smile turned shy, his lids lowering so that his lashes hid his eyes. "I'd like that. But, uh, I think I'm going to try and sleep for a bit. I haven't gotten much sleep on this case," Reid admitted sheepishly.

"I didn't think you had." Hotch shook his head, expelling a quiet sigh. "You really need to stop attempting to sleep at the station of whatever PD we're assisting. The reason we all go to our hotel rooms and sleep is so we wake up feeling refreshed and have clear heads examining everything the next day."

"I know. I can't help it, though; I get caught up in the details because something in my mind is always nagging at me, telling me I've missed something obvious. It's just difficult to shut down in the middle of a case." Reid looked like he was attempting to make himself smaller in the armchair, as if it would take Hotch's focus off him.

The chuckle that escaped Hotch surprised even him, and he motioned towards Reid's bed. "We'll work on it, but for now go ahead and get some rest. If you have any more nightmares, I'll wake you."

Reid offered him a weary smile before pushing himself out of the armchair. Hotch turned his attention to setting the chessboard back the way it was, but he stopped when he felt a hand on his arm. He blinked up at Reid, surprised by the contact. "Thank you for not asking. I'm not sure I'd really be able to explain it. And thank you for not babying me like the others would have."

Hotch couldn't form the words to respond to that, so he simply nodded. His pulse accelerated at the way Reid's hand slipped off his arm, with Reid's fingers gently dragging along it in a sort of lingering caress. Swallowing roughly, he shook his head to eradicate that thought, and then he refocused on the chessboard.

He continued slowly setting the pieces in their rightful places, and after he finished, he sat back in the desk chair, bracing his elbows on the arms of it. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, taking even and measured breaths in an effort to relax and ease the tension in his shoulders.

He could hear Reid's steady breaths, just shallow enough for him to actually be asleep, and his brain easily conjured an image of the tall man curled up on his side. He smiled to himself as he focused on Reid's even breathing, unknowingly pacing his own breathing to match, and within minutes he'd fallen back to sleep.

(And if he woke up with a crick in his neck later? Well, that was his own business because just about anything was worth seeing Reid smiling and refreshed without bags underneath his eyes.)

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 _As always, reviews would be lovely! Thanks for reading! (:_


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